My heart goes out to single parents. I know since I was one for ten years. Being mother, father, banker, bill payer, chauffeur, chief cook and bottle washer, doing homework, going to ball games, then having to deal with your ex!
For about a year after my divorce I made up for lost time, enjoying the swinging singles scene on weekends. I didn’t attend church because I didn’t like the way I was treated when I went – I felt like I had a big “D” stamped on my forehead (at least that’s the excuse I was giving myself). It was some Mormon missionaries who drove me back to my home church. After hearing their stories about Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, I told them I was attending the Baptist church where I grew up. Not wanting to make myself a liar, I attended that weekend. To my surprise, I didn’t feel like an outcast at all, but felt loved and accepted just as I was.
I don’t know whether I had an “aha” moment, or just swinging from one end of the spectrum to the other, but I soon spent what little spare time I had at church. You know I have been called obsessive-compulsive, because it’s either all or nothing with me. Once I commit to something, though, I tend to jump into the deep end with both feet.
I can break down the single parent stage of my life this way: The first five years I was learning to love me. The second five years I was learning to trust men. I still say how very grateful I am to have had my parents’ help and support. Many, many single parents have no one. If my parents hadn’t been there, I don’t know how I could have made it.
